Page 24 of Fate

This mattered. The two of them. The way the bond flared to feel him settle in beside her. As he would, hopefully every night for the rest of their lives.

She reached out to find his hand. He was at the far edge of the bed, his body stiff and his hand tight when at last she settled hers around it.

She turned to her side, and while every impulse insisted she creep nearer to him—to settle against his chest. To touch him and be touched...

There was an unease in the bond that insisted she be a little more cautious. “You all right?” she asked, squeezing his hand briefly.

“Yes,” he answered tersely. Waited for a moment. “No,” he amended, and there was the sadness again. For herself. For him.

But there was a flare of excitement when he pulled her closer to him. When he wrapped his arm about her and let her settle just where she’d hoped she would. When she could feel them fitted so rightly together. And she loved the feel of his skin against her cheek when she chose that instead of the many pillows behind them. Loved the way he situated the covers to ensure her shoulders were warm and her wings not situated badly.

Loved it more when she felt his fingers in her feathers, brushing and coaxing, until her wings tingled and she wanted so badly to kiss him. To ensure that he felt the same as she did.

But that meant moving. Meant shifting and coaxing him to show his back to her, and she did not think he’d be willing to allow that. And besides, moving was a terrible prospect, not when her bones felt like they’d turned to liquid, when she felt a peace she had hoped for, but never experienced.

She almost wanted to say something. To ask if he felt it, if this was shared rather than for her alone. But it had to be. And talking thus far had only led to quarrelling, so she settled for resting her hand against his chest. To the spot where she assumed his bond was nestled, also. To plying it first with little patterns with her fingers. Feeling his body tense, then slowly—slowly—loosen.

Which was rather marvellous.

Not that she wanted him to be nervous with her. Not that she would purposely make him anxious. But the feel of him relaxing, of being with her without the scowl and the glare...

She craved it.

Firen shifted again. Not too far. But enough that she felt him stiffen ever so slightly as she flattened against him. Which wasn’t so great a change, only that it allowed her lips to find the spot her fingers had played with. To kiss it once, simply to gauge his reaction. For his hand to come to her hair as he looked down at her, eyes harder than they should be. Questioning and suspicious.

Which was absurd.

“We are meant to be sleeping.”

Firen smiled at him. “Really? I wasn’t aware.”

He gave a snort of amusement. “My day has been long. Has yours been otherwise?”

“My day...” she murmured, feeling it all felt rather far away. There was a before and an after. When she was Firen, the smithy’s daughter. Now...

“Was spent preparing for you,” she breathed, allowing her lips to drop so she could skim across his bared chest. And really, if he did not want her attentions, for her tonoticehim, he should have worn a proper sleep-shirt. But he hadn’t, and while she thought wistfully that she should have gone without her shift to match him, it was too late and too much effort to be as bare in kind.

She was close enough to see the way he swallowed, the way his eyes flared with heat for just a moment before he forced them back to a guarded sort of neutrality.

“You cannot say the same, I know,” Firen added, and she was pleased that she could say it with a smile even as she kissed his chest once more. It would be his mouth soon. When she could bebothered to wriggle up enough to find it. “But that’s all right. I don’t mind.”

And she didn’t. He’d resigned himself to the nothingness he would find in a fete barred from families notoldenough. Which meant he’d known he would be without. Without a mate, without her,and without things like kisses and bonds that warmed and tugged and insisted that they would sleep much betterafter.

“I wonder if I believe that,” he mused, playing with a lock of her hair and bringing the end to brush against her cheekbone.

“It’s true,” she insisted. And then it was worth pulling herself higher. To bring their faces nearer to one another. She didn’t kiss him, not yet, but she liked the way he swallowed again at her closeness. Most of her was still situated at his side rather than fully on top, but that could be changed as well. Would only take a bit more wriggling, after all. “I was tired too. Of the waiting. Of the sameness. Why would I begrudge it of you?”

His mouth tightened and his eyes...

She sighed.

He was going to remind her about blood and families and how he hadn’t gone looking as she had done because he did notwanta mate that did not align with that description.

But he’d promised. So he would say nothing.

But he would think it.

And she hated that, too. Hated that she could feel his withdrawal even when he had not moved. Could feel him remember she wasn’t what he wanted, and so there should not be sweet touches and whispered words between them. Sleep, yes. Because they must sleep somewhere, and the bond would not be satisfied unless it was together. But anything else...